The Love of Zevran Arainai's Lives
by LuxaLucifer
Summary: Zevran is capable of falling in love with many types of people, but in the end it always comes down to the Warden. Every different Warden takes place in a different World State.
1. Trust

These were written for Zevran Week on tumblr- no plans to continue what I have, just some drabbles I thought I'd share.

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When Zevran was growing up, he learned there was no such thing as love. It took him decades to find out that he was wrong.

And really, he thought, sighing as he watched his Warden dozing in bed, their snoring enough to wake the neighbors (and it would, too, if he knew that merchant's silly wife). He let a soft smile slip from his lips before turning back to tying the laces on his boots.

He had work to do. The Guildmaster's position had been slipped to him (that was the way he liked to think of torture as, so much kinder on the ears that way). Once his boots were on, the same worn leather pair the Warden had given him, he opened a window and took a deep breath.

Leather. The Warden had reserved the room. There had been a time when Zevran had thought he would never smell that again. He turned to leave.

"Stay," came a groggy voice.

"I cannot," he said, frowning slightly, running a hand right through his hair, right where he knew there was a gray streak. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to their temple. "But I'll be back tonight."

The Warden smiled blearily. Zevran wouldn't break that trust for the world. He would be back.


	2. Actions, Not Words

"You came back."

Zevran said the words lightly, turning back to the merchant he was bartering with for a new belt. He finished the transaction, paying only a pittance of the original price and began walking, letting the Warden stumble forward a few steps to catch up with him.

"I came back," said the Warden, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he caught up with Zevran's long strides. They passed from building to building. Normally the brightly decked out street of Antiva City would have drawn his full attention, bursting full with activities and stalls on a holiday like this. He could smell a stand of pastries to his left and hear the shouts of washerwomen above as they aired the laundry from windows and gossiped

Today, however, his attentions were focused on something else entirely.

"Wasn't your ship supposed to leave this morning?"

"Yes," said the Warden.

"Doesn't your country need its King? That's what you told me last night. You have your country. You have your Queen."

"I was wrong," said the Warden. There was honesty in his tone, and sounds of Zevran's boots (given to him by the Warden so long ago) on the cobbled road stilled.

"You told me you love her," said Zevran. He almost lost the words as they went from his throat to his mouth, stumbling on the sounds instead of speaking in his normal clear tone.

"I do love Anora," said the Warden. The words were daggers in him, but Zevran had survived stabbings before. His face stayed impassive.

"I love you more," continued the Warden, taking a step toward him. He was so much taller than Zevran.

"You toss around that word. You cannot say these things and then do something so contrary as to leave, again," said Zevran, turning from the Warden's advances and to a stall advertising warm clothing in case of a cold spell. There would be no cold spell, not in the heart of summer in Antiva, but he looked anyway, and to anyone who was watching he would appear very interested in the thick plaideweave stockings.

"Look at me," said the Warden, voice breaking. "Please, Zevran, don't do this. I came back. I'm sorry I left like I did, but I'm here now."

"You never answered my earlier question," said Zevran, so intent on the plaideweave that the seller was starting to get excited. "What about your country?"

"Anora is a good ruler," he said. "Better than me. For some reason I thought I'd be good at it. That I'd change Ferelden. She can do that for me, though. To be happy, I need you. I'll stay with you in Antiva City. Forever if you want."

"You're saying a whole lot," said Zevran, eyebrow cocked.

"And how do you want me to show you, exactly?"

"Large displays of affection usually work," said Zevran. "Perhaps hang your underthings on an important monument?"

"Lacking that," said the Warden. "What if I showed you the letter I'm writing Anora? I mean, obviously that's not as good as the undergarment thing, but it's a start."

The Warden handed him a scroll of parchment, which he unraveled, trying to do it in a way that showed he didn't care. Failing, of course. He'd always cared about that damn man.

He was stepping down as King. Officially. And, in the last few lines, he was apologizing to Anora. Telling her he was sorry. Zevran skimmed through that bit. It was personal, a part of the Warden's life he didn't need to know. Signed, Maric Cousland, with that annoying flourish he had.

"Interesting decision," he said. "We may have to go to Ferelden to deliver it, though."

The Warden- his Warden- tilted his head. "Why?"

"It's a bit cruel to break up with someone via letter," said Zevran, reprimanding him by shaking the scroll in his direction. "In person is kinder."

"That means…."

"You've missed out on a lot, mi amor," said Zevran. "It'll take you a while to catch up, but I think you're up to the task."

The Warden opened his mouth to speak and reached out to caress the tattoos on Zevran's face, the same way he'd done it in their tent during the Blight, but Zevran swatted the hand away and leaned over, kissing him soundly on the mouth. "Just remember," he said. "Actions, not words."


	3. The Way You See It

"How long has it been?"

"Too long," said Zevran, laughing. "But right now? I thought we were shopping."

Surana laughed, flipped long hair behind her shoulder as she did so. "You're right, I suppose. A distraction at The Pearl might take a bit long."

"Exactly my thinking," said Zevran. "Besides, Tabitha is off on weekends to take care of her family, and you simply must meet her."

"You've told me about her before, I think," said Surana, who felt a thrill in her chest as Zevran wrapped his arm around her waist, calloused brown fingers rubbing her hip lightly. That feeling, the one of excited tendrils wrapping around her heart, never went away no longer how long they were together (over ten years now).

They headed into the Wonders of Thedas- or they tried to. The shop was closed, and a peek in the windows showed no sign of the Tranquil proprietor. Another sign that the mage rebellion was heating up.

"I'd suggest theft," said Zevran. "But it seems a little cruel to kick the Circle when they're down."

"I wouldn't say they're down," she replied, tugging him forward into the alley next to the shop. "They're rising up for the first time in a long, long while. It'll just take a little time for them to get on their feet."

"I like the way you see it," said Zevran. She drank in the smirk on his face, the way it crinkled his tattoo (she would give much to see his tattoos for the first time, to lavish them anew).

"Now," said Zevran, looking around and seeing that they were in the alley. "Why are we here? Don't tell me we're going to have fun without The Pearl."

"Maybe later," she said. "Right now I just wanted to do this."

She pulled him down none too gently, hand on the collar of his shirt, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

"I'm glad you're here," she said. "I'm glad we're here together."

The area around his eyes softened, and he smiled (the difference between a smile and a smirk was marked, and usually meant the difference between Zevran being awake and being half-asleep, toying with her hair in a rare moment of dropping his guard).

"You as well, mi amor," he said. "Without you, I doubt I would be alive."

His honesty warmed her. They walked back into the street, their hidden exchange a secret to all but them.


	4. A Fair Trade

"You can't protect me."

"Zevran, you're going off to your death if you do this. Please, don't. Don't do this."

The very air was tense. The only time she'd even felt it like this is in certain rooms of the Circle, when it had been used too often for magic and the Fade was thin and easy to break.

"That Guildmaster has it out for me. If I don't go he'll come after us." He threw his hands up in the air. He only did that when he was frustrated. She could see the wound on his hand from when he'd nicked himself with his own poisoned blade. She'd teased him for weeks.

"Then," she said, crossing her arms, her set of brown eyes meeting his own. "I'm coming with you."

His eyes slid from her face to her stomach, and his frown deepened. "I can't let you do that, mi amor."

"If you go," she said, hating that she was voicing this thought, hating that she was laying it out there. "You won't come back. And when you don't come back what am I supposed to do? Since I'm with child, something that we both thought would never happen?"

He sighed, pressing his lips together. "You know you can't come with me."

"You shouldn't go," she said. "You ran to the Free Marches last time. This time run with me."

"Weren't we supposed to raise our child in Antiva City?" he said, smiling sadly, calloused hand running over her clothed stomach.

"We can afford to make that sacrifice," she said. "A city for a father? Fine with me."

"How about a city for a lover?" he said, and she knew she had won. They would fight those Crows another day.

"How about both?" she said. They moved to watch the sunset on the harbor, gazing out the window like the family they had never had. It would be the last time they saw this view for a while.


	5. Their Hope

"Do you ever think we should just stop this?"

She said it so softly that he almost didn't hear her. The words were a lance to the heart as he realized what she'd said, and he sat up, pushing the blankets off himself and turning towards her. There was no amusement in his gaze as he said, "Why?"

They'd only been in Redcliffe Castle for a day, but they were already heading off in the morning. Denerim had been attacked and the Archdemon sighted. They had a long way to go and at the end the Blight would be over. At least, that was their hope.

Her dark eyes watched him in the dark, glinting when they reflected the little light there was. He fancied it was his own brown eyes they saw. Red locks streaking her pillow, she watched him from around a halo of hair. Beautiful, dangerous, and apparently cruel.

"I could die," she said. "Where would that leave you?"

"Last I checked," he said. "I was fairly self-reliant. Either way, could you really manage to die when you have such a handsome elf looking after you?"

She smiled, but there was no fire in it. She only looked sad. Normally he would joke, tell her a massage would ease that pain, perhaps recite some terrible poetry. He'd gone to her room earlier, but Morrigan had been there. What was going on?

"I think it would hurt you more than you think," she said.

"Maybe it would," he said. "But this can be solved with one thing."

"Oh?" she said.

"Yes," he replied. "You not dying."

He smirked, hoping she would in return. He wanted this tension to go, to leave and for him to be able to lay back down and play with her hair and sleep.

"Thank you," she said seriously, throwing the blankets off and sitting up. She reached for a kiss and left the room. He watched her leave. Something was different, but he didn't know what.

She came back in a few hours and he held her. She came back after the battle, too.


	6. A Tower

The woman, Valya's, eyes sparkled as the Warden held the baby animal in his arms. Zevran watched with amusement, never letting on how aware he was of the historic moment, of what this meant in the long run. The little creature in Tabris's arms was a griffon, thought to be extinct for hundreds of years.

"What should I name it?" said Garahel, turning to Zevran with a grin. "Maybe after my great love?"

"I think one Zevran is enough for this world," he replied. "I fill it up easily enough, do I not?"

Valya rolled her eyes at his statement, which made him laugh. He looked around the rookery with interest as her gaze slid back to the baby griffon in his Warden's's arms. It was mostly empty, but the few growing griffons they did see showed Zevran a future for the empty tower they stood in.

"Garahel," he said. "You could always name him it after yourself."

"Your name is Garahel?" said Valya, mouth dropping. "That's the name of the-"

"The Warden who stopped the Fourth Blight?" said Garahel. "Yes, I'm away. My mother named me after him. Told me when I was young that I could be as great as he was. Bet she didn't know how prophetic that was"

Garahel's eyes softened as he scratched under the griffon's chin.

"It's hard to explain," said Valya. "But Garahel's tale is personal to me. Did you know he had a griffon too?"

"Did he?" said Garahel, sounding mildly interested. Zevran tsked internally. The Warden was a good man, but he had no idea how to sound like he cared.

"Crookytail," said Valya, smiling.

"I think that's a good enough name," said Garahel. "What about you, Zevran?"

"Perfect," said Zevran. "As long as you promise not to meet his end."

"I won't," said Garahel. "I'd be dead already."

In another world he was, and Zevran mourned from a tower in Antiva City. But here they were content as a baby griffon chirped in the Hero of Ferelden's arms, alive and happy.


	7. Untrappable

Last one- thanks for reading!

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"I can't move my leg!"

The battle had ended and Zevran was still breathing hard, wiping his daggers down. He heard the Warden's cry of anguish and stood, head whipping around.

"Brosca," he called, "Where are you?"

He spotted her before she had a chance to reply, her leg caught in a trap. His heart sank. He'd thought he'd gotten them all, deftly disarming them before the battle had begun. He'd been wrong.

He ran to her side, dropping any pretense of amusement or playful banter. She grinned at him tiredly, hands slick with blood as she attempted to pry the trap off her leg.

"Calm down," he said. "I've got this."

He smoothed the hair off her sweaty forehead before wiping his hands on his armor and prying the armor apart. By the time he had, Alistair had realized what was going on and come over, frowning deeply at their Warden's state.

"I've got you," said Zevran absentmindedly as he put his strength into it and pulled hard enough to finally dislodge it.

"I could have-" began Alistair, because he was bigger and stronger but it was Zevran who needed to know, who needed to make sure the warden was okay not because she was their leader but because he cared about her, more than he thought he could, more than he wanted to, because caring was dangerous and painful and not looked well upon by the Crows.

Except he was no longer a Crow, and there was nothing stopping him from gathering her up in his arms and carrying her back to camp.

"Hold on," he murmured, voice low. She stopped writhing, exhaustion written all over her face as he pulled her up and into his grip, carrying her tight against his chest as they walked back to camp.

"You're a cute one, you know that?" she said, gripping a band of his arm with her smaller fingers, obviously in pain. "You care more than you think you do."

"Shhh," he said quietly, smiling despite himself. "Someone might hear."

"I don't care if they do," she said. She was a loud one, his Brosca. He liked that about her. He liked almost everything about her. He held her as they walked back and tried to pretend it wasn't the first time he'd ever carried anyone this way.


End file.
